“Think you’ll be up to it?”
“Definitely. I need to hear what she has to say about her victims, her false identities, her extensive planning. I’m more than ready for that. I also want to hear from Rufus. Her pawn,” I said.
“The easier one to crack.”
“You know how I’ve felt drawn to Myren’s house since we recovered the victims from the bog? Something ate at me about it, but I didn’t suspect that pair was living there. Aside from the time I saw her leaving the driveway and the curtains moving today, no one in the department has spotted lights or activity around there.”
“You thought she was driving a silver, not a gray, car,” Smoke said.
“I did. I think the lighting made it appear silver instead of gray.”
“They’ve been exceptionally cunning. She made sure of that. Truth be told, if I’d met her on the street and she was wearing jeans with her hair in a ponytail and a ball cap on, I might not have recognized her from the photos.”
“In what seems to be the soccer mom uniform, she’d blend in with scores of others who dress like that,” I said.
“I need to shove off. You’ll be okay here alone?”
“I’m not alone.”
Smoke nodded at the dogs and smiled.
I dropped onto a deck chair and both Queenie and Rex took that as their cue to lay down at my feet. My loyal friends and protectors. “It’s been a really big day, guys. You know that night we sat over by Coyote Bog in the GTO and I went chasing after the car, but lost it? Turns out she is a depraved serial killer. We caught her and she’ll spend the rest of her days in prison.” Queenie whined and Rex let out a single bark, convincing me they understood what I was talking about.
I leaned my head against the back support and closed my eyes. When my phone buzzed in my jeans pocket, I glanced at the time, surprised that I’d fallen asleep. For over an hour, besides. I pushed the talk button. “Hi, Mom.”
“Corinne, it’s all over the news. They arrested two people in connection with the bodies that were found in Coyote Bog. Deputies have been at their house for hours. Channel five had footage of the house with the Winnebago County Mobile Crime Unit and squad cars in the yard. And the house has yellow crime scene tape around it.”
Randolph must have released a statement.
“As it turns out, I was there when they were arrested,” I said.
“How come? It’s your day off.”
I gave her an overview without expounding on the details.
“Corinne Mae Aleckson, I can hear you’re whitewashing what happened at that house.” Whitewashing. The death angel’s room came to mind in living no-color white.
“I’ll tell you more about it later. I’m sitting in on the interviews, so I better get rolling.”
“You have no idea how much I worry about you,” Mother said.
Yes, I do and that’s why I spare you the ugly parts whenever possible. “Mom, I appreciate your concern for my safety, but you need to stop stressing yourself out or you’ll have me worrying about your health.”
“You’ll always be my little girl.”
“Who grew up to be a cop. They even trust me with weapons and everything.”
“Corinne—"
“Sorry for being snotty. I’ll catch you later. Love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up and shook my head at the irony that my mother and I stressed each other out more than anyone else in our lives. For opposite reasons. My job had her on the edge of her seat every day I was on duty. In turn, her anxiety made me fret about critical incidents that happened on the job. If she found out about them, she freaked out. That kept me from baring my soul to her.
At times I wanted to revert to the little girl that cried in her arms when something bad happened. Like when I’d been beaten down by something on the job. I knew she was there for me and wanted to be there more, but she couldn’t deal with bad and ugly. She needed happily ever after endings.
The funny thing was, I wanted a version of that myself. Flushing out bad guys who victimized others, and throwing them in jail, was the closest those of us in the criminal justice world got to happily ever after. Professionally speaking.
On a personal level, I clung to a more optimistic outlook.
Reminding me of Detective Elton Dawes. I sent him a text. ETA for interviews? A minute later he responded with, 2:30. Good. See you there. He sent me a thumbs-up emoji. I was glad he hadn’t changed his mind because I needed to be there. To scrutinize the offenders’ words and gestures and appearances. After the brief encounter Smoke and I had with Rufus outside the Emerald Lake apartment, I thought I’d be able to pick him out of a photo lineup, but I couldn’t swear to it.
Then when Rufus barged into the bathroom, I saw a mammoth-sized man with no discernible facial features, bent on capturing me, before I doused him with pepper spray. When he pushed his way into the bedroom, his face was contorted and red and full of slobber.
He was likely mentally challenged and had been manipulated and brainwashed by his mother. I sympathized with the guy to a point.
The angel of death was a different story. Her varied images in the photos were burned into my brain. But when I stood face to face with her, it was like the world got brighter for those seconds. I had mental clarity and the weapons to immobilize her. Take her down. If I were an artist I’d sit down and draw a spitting image of what she looked like. The bleak expression on her face when she saw the glowering look on mine was priceless.
It was still an hour before the scheduled interviews, and I was at a momentary loss of what to do to fill the time. I wanted to help collect evidence at Floyd Myren’s house but couldn’t. Queenie and Rex were still at my side, making sure I was okay, sensing something was amiss. When had I slept during the day? They stood when I did and followed me inside. I looked for something quick and easy for lunch and thought of the peanut butter. I figured that, topped with a banana on bread, would give me both protein and potassium. Along with a tall glass of milk for calcium.
At 2:20, I pulled my GTO into a parking spot on the street outside the sheriff’s office. I’d brought my portable radio with and on my way in heard Smoke tell Communications he was “Ten-nineteen.” At the office. When I found him in his cubicle jotting notes on a memo pad, he looked up and smiled.
“All set?” I said.
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ll start with easy then move to difficult. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I figured I would. The incident was traumatic. I was sweating bullets for a while. But the outcome was beyond rewarding.”
“The guys were talking about you. After what you did—having the wherewithal to go up against that behemoth and his evil mother—the respect they have for you is off the charts,” Smoke said.
The compliment and the description made me smile. “Behemoth? That’s kind of a funny, archaic word.”
Smoke shrugged. “You think? That’s what came to my mind when I saw him. They’re bringing Rufus over from the jail and two deputies will be posted outside the room in case he turns disorderly.”
“How did the bookings go?”
“Rufus was cooperative. The mother not so much. Refused to give her name and date of birth. Hopefully, her son will fill in the blanks before I talk to her.”
41
Two corrections officers escorted Rufus, hands cuffed behind his back, to the sheriff’s office conference room where Smoke met them. The deputies were on standby and I was in the adjoining room, ready to take notes. Smoke introduced himself to Rufus and said, “How about we take off those handcuffs? I’m counting on you to be nice and cooperative, so I don’t have to call for help. We both know how much pepper spray hurts.”
Rufus sniffed. “Uh huh. I’ll be good.”
Smoke nodded at the corrections officers. One unlocked the cuffs and freed Rufus’s hands, then the two of them left. Rufus rubbed his wrists.
“Have a seat, young man,” Smoke said.
They sat down with the table between them. Smoke had his back to me, and I had a clear view of Rufus’s face.
Smoke turned on the recording equipment. “I’ll be videotaping our conversation. I’ll ask you questions, but first I need to read you the Miranda Warning.” He pulled out the card and read, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?” He spoke slowly, allowing Rufus to absorb the words and their meanings.
Rufus nodded. “Uh huh.”
Smoke looked at him. “Please answer with ‘yes’ instead.”
“Yes.”
“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”
Rufus looked perplexed for a second. “I seen cops on shows saying words like that when they arrest people.”
“They do things a little different on TV and in the movies. Rufus, I want to make sure you understand your rights. Would you like me to read them again?” Smoke said.
“Uh uh. You’re a cop so I should talk to you, even if Mama says not to.”
“If you understand your rights and agree to speak to me, please answer ‘yes.’”
“Yes.”
“Can you give me your full name?”
“Rufus Wilkins.”
“No middle name?”
“Uh uh. Just Rufus Wilkins.”
“Your date of birth?”
He recited it, and I calculated he was twenty-two years old.
“And your mother’s name?”
“Jasmine Wilkins.” Jasmine.
“Does she have a middle name?”
“Ann.”
“And her date of birth?”
When he said it, I was surprised to hear she was only thirty-nine years old. Seven years older than me with a twenty-two-year old son. Seventeen when he was born.
“Rufus, on Monday, May fourteenth we recovered seven bodies from the bog just south of the home where you were living. The home belonging to Floyd Myren. Do you know Mister Myren?”
“Uh huh.”
“How do you know Mister Myren?”
“Mama was friends with him for a long time. She helped him when his daughter was sick. Then she died,” Rufus said.
“When was that?”
“Eight years ago. I was fourteen.” Before the elderly persons—that we know about—started disappearing.
“Go on.”
“We’ve been mostly staying at his house a few years now, helping him, ˊcause he was getting old and losing his mind.”
“Mister Myren is no longer living?”
He shook his head. “Mama sent him to Heaven.”
“How did she do that?”
“Mama put a pillow over his face because it was time for him to go to Heaven.” My stomach muscles tightened.
“When was that?”
“Umm. I think two years ago.” He nodded. “Uh huh, two years. In May, too. Mama finds really sick people in May. They need to go to Heaven on May twenty-sixth.”
“Why is that?”
“Because my grandpa made her send his mama to Heaven on May twenty-sixth.”
“Your great-grandma, your mother’s grandma?” Smoke said.
“Uh huh.”
“What was your great-grandma’s name?”
“Rhoda Wilkins.” Rhoda.
“And your grandpa’s name?”
“Rufus.”
“Same as yours. How long ago was that, that your grandma went to Heaven?”
“Nine years, when I was thirteen.”
“Where did your great-grandma Rhoda live?”
“In Iowa, where we came from.”
“The name of the town?”
“Des Moines.”
“How long have you been in Minnesota?”
“Since right after Grandma Rhoda died.”
“When did you move to Winnebago County?”
“Umm, four years ago.”
“Tell me where else you lived, and when you were there.”
He frowned then looked at his fingers and moved them like he was counting. “Um, Minneapolis, first. Dassel, we moved there eight years ago. Elk River, five years ago. Oak Lea and Emerald Lake, um, four years ago.”
“Both places at the same time?”
“Uh huh. And at Mister Myren’s, too. Mama likes to pretend she’s different people and live different places.”
“How can she afford to have more than one apartment, and buy all of her outfits?” Smoke said.
“My grandma left her a lot of money in a safe deposit thing. It was a secret from my grandpa.”
“When did your grandma die?”
“A long time ago. Before my great-grandma did.” Jasmine had escape money when she needed it.
“Do you have a father?”
“Uh uh.”
“Getting back to Mister Myren. After he died, how did your mother send him to Heaven?”
“First she had to put an angel here.” Rufus touched his forehead. “And crosses here and here.” He touched one wrist then the other.
“How did she put the angel and crosses there?”
“Mama has iron things. She put them on a burner so they got hot, and then she put them on Mister Myren. It smelled icky and I can’t be there when she does that.”
“And then what?”
“She wrapped a necklace around his hand. Then she made me bury him.”
“In the bog?”
Rufus pursed his lips. “Uh huh. I put him on a slide and I slided him into the water.”
“Is that what happened with the other six people in Coyote Bog?”
“Uh huh, mostly. The light ones I could throw in.”
“Were there other people, besides the seven we found in the bog, that she sent to Heaven, too?”
“Uh uh.”
“Did Mama say why she buried them in a bog?”
“For their heavenly journey.”
“How did Mama know about the bog?”
“Mister Myren talked about it. He said bogs keep things almost like new ˊcause his grandpa kept some food in it in the hot summer to keep it good.”
“I see. Well, Rufus, we’ll wrap this up for today. You’ve been very helpful, and I appreciate you answering all my questions. Thank you.”
“That’s okay.”
I met Smoke in the hallway after the corrections officers escorted Rufus back to the jail. The two deputies left to grab beverages from a vending machine. “Wow,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows and stretched his lips out to the sides of his cheeks. “Rufus identified the event that Special Agent Erley said caused Jasmine Wilkins’ psychotic break, it seems.”
“A horrible thing to make your daughter do. Her father controlled her life, and then she controlled her son’s,” I said.
“Both of them had it rough. And for Rufus Wilkins, he knows right from wrong and was forced to do wrong.”
“And hated it. Only fifteen, just a kid when he had to bury the first body in the bog. What a cruel thing for an already challenged teen.”
“No question. I’ll have Communications do a search on Rufus Wilkins and Jasmine Ann Wilkins. See what turns up. We collected photos of Floyd Myren from his house and will get them to the M.E.’s office tomorrow, see if they match up with the seventh victim. Corrections is bringing Jasmine over after Rufus is back in his cell. They were told it’s imperative the two never cross paths, as long as they’re here,” Smoke said.
“I’ll wait in the viewing room. I don’t want to be in the corridor when the angel of death gets here.”
“You don’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I do.”
Jasmine Wilkins, the angel of death, was brought to the interview room. She stared straight ahead, standing stock still as the corrections officer removed her handcuffs. After he left, Smoke instructed Wilkins to sit down. She sat and continued t
o stare ahead, seemingly at nothing.
“Jasmine Ann Wilkins,” Smoke said.
A slight flicker in her eyes and blink of her eyelids.
Smoke told her he’d be recording their conversation and read the Miranda Warning. He asked if she understood and if she’d talk to him. She didn’t acknowledge him in any way.
“I won’t ask you any questions, so you won’t have to provide answers.” Smoke opened his notepad. “We exhumed all the bodies you had your son bury in Coyote Bog. We’ve been in contact with the victims’ families in three counties, except for Floyd Myren’s. He’s the one who still had a crucifix wrapped around his hand. The others lost theirs in the bog.”
Wilkins appeared deaf and blind. It was unnerving. Smoke went on to list each victim’s name and age and the locations they were at when they went missing. Slowly, drawing out each one’s information. But it didn’t get a rise out of Wilkins.
“We’ve traced the employers and residences you’ve had, and the disguises you’ve used over the last seven years. I gotta say, abducting a deputy’s mother was mighty stupid of you, as ingenious as you must’ve thought it was. Outwitting the sheriff’s office. I’m sure you figured you’d get away with it, like you had in the past. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how things turn out? There may not be true justice this side of Heaven, but we do our best to get as close as we can.”
Wilkins looked like a lifeless mannequin, not even blinking.
“You won’t have to say a word. Because we have enough evidence and firsthand testimony of your deeds to ensure you will never experience another day of freedom in your life. And I gotta say, all those people whose lives you ended, their families are going to be mighty grateful to hear that. They’ve been waiting a long time to find out what happened to their loved ones. And now they know. Knowing you can never harm another human being is frosting on their cakes.”
Wilkins did not appear to register a single word Smoke said. I sent him a text. I think she’s catatonic. Meet me in the corridor.
“Jasmine, stay put. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Smoke said.
Remains In Coyote Bog Page 24